Legacy, Westward Bound
by Dego-Flamron
Summary: The second installment of my trilogy.


Section 3

Lekia

Chapter 1:

The Bridge is Out.

Hello, and good day.

You're surprised, no doubt, that I'm speaking to you in such a manner…right, reader? If I'm just reading what I've already written, I probably remember what's happened up until this part of the story, but I guess depending on how long it's been since the events that transpired a little over thirteen weeks ago…I might not. Either way, if you, the reader, either doesn't remember what's happened up until this point… don't remember…apparently some of the people from the last book…the ones who had the first chance of reading what I'd written…objected to the style and content of the first book. So, I've stopped trying to write a historical record, or a Lord of the Rings/Foundation/Star Wars novel, in favor of a narrative journal…kind of like what Hank Morgan wrote, in the Connecticut Yankee in King Arthur's Court. …only Hank Morgan was a fictional character, where as I'm obviously not. Yeah, this new perspective may cause some confusion, it might be a little harder to explain some second-hand accounts, and I might be more than a little subject to bias, writing this way…but at least I won't have to endure any more rows.

So…if you don't remember, the last part of my last story told you about how I ended up, with a bum leg, in a Lutheran Church, in the town of the Inland Range…or Inland, as most everyone calls it around here. Since it was, and still is the only real city in the entire province, we call it…well…everyone but Doc Holiday calls it the city. I think Doc might be calling the city Two-Son or Three-Daughter as I write this, for all I know. I guess that's hard to say, anyway, because he's not really Doc anymore, now that we're…

…but I'm getting ahead of yourself…if I'm not the one reading this that is… As I said, if you would like to know what happened, or would like to be reminded of what happened, just keep reading. I'll get around to it shortly.

By the time I had finished the last of my previous story, the chronicles of my travels through Aquinis, and Inland, my leg had mostly healed.

…as Doc Holiday said, when he checked up on me for the last time, "You should be able to walk on it, and maybe even run on it. However, if you so much as think the word "Irish-step dancing" your wound will open, and you'll lose more blood than can be replaced, if I had to guess…"

"Well, thanks Doc," I replied, sighing but with a smile. "So, what do I owe you?"

"Dinner," Doc replied with half a smile, "At Roxanne's Bar, Grill, and University."

"Would you just pick a name and stick with it?" I half groaned, half grumbled.

Doc had been choosing a name for the small Café on the Southwest corner of the Inland Crossroads for about twenty years now, according to Roxanne, the manager and cook. She remembered the date so well, she told me, because that was when he first helped built the place. So, as you can imagine, Roxanne had gotten perturbed with Doc ever since on a fairly regular basis.

As I sat up on the cot, I groaned a bit, when my atrophied muscles protested. _**Man!**_ I grumbled under my breath, _**I've been sitting around for far too long… I need to do some more of those preparation exercises when I'm feeling better… or at least a maybe a few chin ups…**_

As a fighter, soldier, and especially as a first lieutenant in the American Army, I had the duty and responsibility to maintain my body…or at least keep it in top-physical condition. If I couldn't be out at the firing range, then I needed to at least be dong sit ups-chin ups, pushups, crunches, lunges…among other exercises… However, considering what Doc had told me, I could only think of one exercise that wouldn't put any physical stress on my legs…

Sanya was waiting outside the church, and wore a smile as she greeted me. "Good morning," she said, in her usually cheerful, if not quite giddy tone of voice. "Are you well rested, yet perhaps a bit hungry at the moment?"

"Starving," I grumbled back, "But what do you want me to do or get for you?"

"What?" Sanya asked, as her smile broadened past the hand she had placed to her nose…I'm guessing she was pretending to be surprised or something…but she still needed to get the hang of mannerisms that were obviously foreign to her, in every sense of the word. "Are you offering to pay for breakfast?"

I glared at her indignantly. "No," I grumbled back, "Doc Holiday just asked me to pay for his meal, so I'm going to have to save what money I've got left. I was asking what you wanted, so you could tell me what it is that I'm going to need to tell you I'm not going to buy for you…"

"Oh…" murmured Sanya, while her eyebrows knitted together and she looked down at her feet. "…I should probably find that insulting…if not confusing…but it does sound reasonable for one in your position."

"It should be," I muttered under my breath, "You haven't used any of your reward money, ever since you bought that knitted cap from the Aquinian weavers, about five weeks ago!" I glared at Sanya as she smiled back.

"You do like it, correct?" Sanya asked, for what must have been the thousandth time. She even spun about while uttering a small laugh, before coming to a halt and looking up at me with those annoyingly cute and innocent eyes of hers.

I just sighed. "Why do you keep asking me?" I groaned, almost to the point of sobbing as I continued, "If I said I hated it, would you stop asking me about how it looks on you?"

Sanya frowned and began playing with the chin ties again. "…So…is it true then that you dislike it…? …that you think it fails to become me anymore…or it was simply unbecoming from the instant it was created?"

"…I…" I sighed again. No matter how hard I tried, I could never make her listen, nor ever fail to get a sermon in return for my efforts. So, I shook my head and grumbled, "…it looks wonderful on you."

"Yay!" Sanya squealed, leaping up and hugging my neck. As she slowly smother and choked me with her love, she absolutely beamed. "You seem to have become so nice these last few weeks."

"I'm sorry," I grumbled back, rolling my eyes away from her. "I can't help it…much…"

As Sanya drew away, she gave me an inquisitive look. Then she shrugged, and let me hobble on by before following me. I really wished that she wasn't so cheerful, or that there weren't so many people in the town, living out their lives. While I was confined to my bed, more families crossed over from Aquinis in an attempt to escape what I knew was going to happen sooner or later…and what they only suspected at this point.

The Vietnamese were going to invade. It was just a matter of time.

Still, while I was losing precious time, and developing an ulcer, worrying about the coming invasion, here were these people, out living their lives. I stood on the boardwalk, watching the traffic on a street that had been all but deserted, more or less, when I first got there.

"Too bad," Doc Holiday grumbled and coughed. "Y'all did right by arresting Mr. Johnson and giving all the ranchers the land stolen from them… Still, I liked the town better when there weren't so many people. … it reminds me, when the streets are quiet, about when I founded this town…more than a few years ago…"

"You founded the only town in the Inland Range?" Sanya asked incredulously, raising an eyebrow as she tugged on her cap-strings. "How could one such as you do something as incredible as that? …and why?"

"Well, I had to do something with all the money I got for selling the rights to shanty-town," Doc grumbled. "I couldn't stand to just let all that money lie around, and go to waste."

"You built Shanty Town?" Sanya exclaimed. "…but…that must be the most valuable place on the island, perhaps besides Icikor itself! …if not the most valuable place…"

Shrugging, Doc Holiday muttered as he continued towards the diner, not even bothering to look at Sanya as he spoke. "…I found metal, so people wanted my land. I didn't want to put up with all the fuss that they were going to make, so I set a price, and eventually, I let the Smiths buy me out. I moved back here, because, frankly, I like the sun and the grass and the wind more than the mountains…" Doc looked both ways, up and down the street, but by this time of day, with all the carts, wagons, people and dust, I couldn't see anything else….and neither could Doc Holiday.

"Don't worry," I said, laying a hand on his shoulder, in an attempt to cheer him up. "When these people leave the town, I'm sure things will go back to the way they were."

"…yeah…I guess it's my fault for building a town anyway…" Doc sighed. He brushed the dust from his mustache with his knuckles, and then pounded them against his whiskers. "…or I should have paved the street…that'll probably be the first thing these people do…I just hope I don't live long enough to see these new-comers grow discontent with cottages and houses, and build until they block out even the sun and the stars…"

I didn't say much after that.

I may have mumbled similar sentiments, but for the most part, I just…stayed quiet, as I remembered what had happened to Texas, and the Old West in general. I like cities and Metropolis-states as much as the next guy, don't get me wrong there. It's just…at that time, and even now, I can't help but be a bit sad the way the countryside had been…"Preserved." In East Texas, where I lived, all the Wildlife Preserves had a 9 foot barbed wire and concrete-reinforced wall surrounding them…to keep everyone outside of the remaining forests, as much as to keep the animals in. In California, not much was left to protect anywhere. The few Decontaminated areas had walls three feet thick, and twenty-feet high, just to keep everyone inside… So, I knew what it was like to see and enjoy a bit of nature, but for everyone else around you to make sure you couldn't.

Anyway, it was sad, but I just tried to remember it wasn't my problem. After all, if these people wanted to ruin their own land, that was their choice. I, however, didn't see why or even how someone, using this level of technology and living as a part of this culture, could or would do anything to harm their land. Considering that this was the only way they could get food, it seemed impossible for any sane person to destroy their source of income… And if any of you readers so much as think the word "Johnson," then I remind you, I said SANE person.

Still, after all I'd seen, I'd realized impossibilities were just incapable of being accomplished, so long as you looked at problems the right way. Occasionally, people who couldn't see past their next meal ticket would change the situation, just to make a fast buck. Greed could make any man, sane or insane, forget to give, and only steal. When you can only think of what you can get out of something, you milk it dry… Politicians are like that. If they can get into a war, then they'll do it, just so they can get as much money out of it as possible. They're like the couple that killed the Goose that laid the Golden Eggs…they get so greedy, they'll kill off their source of income, as long as they think they'll be able to get a lot right now…

Then I remember smacking myself in the side of the head, thinking, _**What the frack am I doing? I need to eat, then ask Jackson for severance pay, and head over to Icikor…**_ It was a simple to-do list…I guess at the time I didn't realize how many things would come after talking to Jackson, and before getting to Icikor…

…but, I'm getting ahead of myself. After Doc Holiday had looked at both ends on both sides of the street, we finally crossed it. After walking a few blocks East, we came to the crossroads, and Roxanne's Bar and Grill, or whatever Doc Holiday felt like calling it that day.

Walking through the door, I could see that everyone was in the bar. Rocky was sitting in one booth, across from Jackson, who appeared to be teaching him how to play some sort of card game. Quietly sitting in one corner, gazing dreamily at Jackson was Cassie, while Harvey sat beside her, and laughed quietly into his hand.

Doc Holiday sat down in his usual barstool, and called out, "Hey Freckles! I'm hungry, so why don't you stick your head out here, and tell me what you've got on the grill?"

Roxanne's shrill, Yorkshire accent could be heard calling back from behind the kitchen's curtain separator, "Why don't you go sit on it, Holiday?"

Doc shrugged. "I don't really want my butt to be barbequed," he grumbled, "…besides, I'd rather not sit on any of your cooking…it'd be such a shame to waste such a delicious dinner…"

"Please, can you people stop arguing already?" I grumbled, glaring at Doc, and then the curtain that hid Roxanne's Kitchen from the rest of the room.

Doc Holiday just blinked at me. "Yes? I can. What of it?"

"Fine!" I grumbled, crossing my arms as I clenched and unclenched my fists. "WOULD you two stop fighting for the day? I'm developing a headache from all this constant bickering, and I'd appreciate it if you two didn't keep stressing me out!"

"…Preposition…" Sanya whispered into my ear.

I swear, I almost lost it then, and I grumbled all the noises that had no place in the English language.

Roxanne laughed, as she threw aside the curtain and walked up to the bar, wiping her hands free of a good deal of flour before leaning onto the counter. "So, what would you like to eat, honey?" Roxanne asked me.

I sighed, groaned, a huffed in one breath, before slumping onto a barstool, and letting my head fall onto the Bar. "…one beef fajita, if you've got one on the grill…" I curled my arms around my face, easing some of the pressure off of my somewhat sensitive nose. I took a deep breath and sighed, although it sounded somewhat muffled, and more or less stifled by the bar and my sleeve. These people were hopelessly irritating. However, whenever I got unbearably mad, they'd become somewhat nice and considerate…almost like family…

Not that I'd know anything about that…My parents were killed in an accident when I was eight, and then I got to be raised for seven years by my grandfather…who was about as out of touch with the rest of the world as a time-traveler from the 1970's…but I suppose that's neither here, nor there…

Anyways, it wasn't so infuriating that they were irritating, but that they were innocently irritating.

Instead of dwelling on that subject, however, I changed subjects. Turning towards Doc, I suddenly decided to ask, "…so…what do I owe you?"

"Nothing but the meal," Doc replied, not even bothering to look up from the coffee mug in front of him.

"…well..alright…" I agreed slowly, before asking, "…was there anything you might want me to do for you then? Do you need anything done around here at least?"

"He means," Jackson grumbled, in his low tone of voice, "leave the medical bills to me."

"Fine, I shrugged, turning back to the bar.

Jackson stayed quiet for all of four seconds, then threw his cards down on the table. "You don't have to be so rude as that, you know."

"What?" I asked, exasperatedly, "Why does everyone have to find something wrong with just about anything I say?"

"Well, don't you have manners back where you come from?" asked Jackson irritably.

"…Jackson…" Sanya groaned.

"I know!" Jackson growled back, almost barking the words as he stood up.

"The point is," Rocky said, apparently trying to get us back on the subject, before Sanya yet again delivered her speech…or rather, lecture…about proper etiquette and grammar, "everyone everywhere has proper codes of conduct, and rules concerning honor, pride, manners…how to act in certain instances…etc. etc. etc."

"Alright," I nearly sighed. "So, what then, did I say that was so impolite?"

"First off," pointed out Jackson, with a grumble, and a poking gesture in my direction, "Men should never accept charity, except as a last resort."

I blinked, and stared blankly at Jackson for a moment or two in silence. Then I asked incredulously, "What in Hell are you fracking talking about?"

Sanya opened her mouth to say something, but Jackson continued, oblivious to Sanya's impending objections.

"I mean, you shouldn't have so readily agreed to let me pay for your bills. You shouldn't be in anyone's debt."

"I asked if I could repay Holiday directly, but then you offered to pay it for me! I mean, I know it was probably a meaningless offer, me asking what I owed him…I've got no money, and I can't do much with this bum leg. I'm uninsured, unemployed, and I'm too injured to get any good-paying job anytime soon around here. If you want to sweat the small stuff, why not just let the whole thing go, since I got this wound saving your niece?"

"That's about the only reason why I'm paying Doc for you!" Crossing his arms crossly, Jackson grumbled in an even louder tone. "If you were stupid enough to get yourself shot, you should go ahead and pay for your stupidity. Still, as nobody died, and because you were doing something for me and my family, I'm giving you a break this time…even if I can't give you any money…"

"…at least, not until you get the cattle to Icikor," I added on for Jackson, smirking a little and even imitating his tone of voice. "That's what you mean, right? I heard something of your financial situation from Connie, the last time she visited…if you remember…"

"No…" Jackson sighed wearily, as he slid back into his seat, to stare sadly at his tankard. "I…I don't think we'll be able to take the cattle to Icikor, after all…"

"What is it this time?" I asked, dreading the news of another disaster. "Are rustlers preying on cattle drivers again?"

"…the bridge is out…" said Jackson. He quickly picked up his drink and downed it, as if it would wash the foul taste the admission had left in his mouth.

I stared at him, while my brain tried to fathom how this information was so earth-shattering. "…so…? Can't you just take the cattle over a different bridge?"

As he lifted his head, Jackson gave me a stern, yet mournful stare. "I guess, back where you used to live, roads must have been more common than scorpions…" Jackson sadly shook his head. He pulled the bandanna from his head. After looking at it, through the curtain of hair that fell about his face, he slapped it on the counter, and cried out in frustration. "Here, there's only one road, leading to each adjoining province, and where Inland meets the border of the River Jordan, only one bridge exists, the only bridge. No bridge capable of supporting the weight of a heifer can be thrown together faster than the bridge to Icikor can be repaired…which might be in the next three months, if the problems in Lekia get fixed within that time, they cut more timber, and send us the wood we've needed for routine maintenance for the past six months! Here, that one bridge was our only link to Icikor, and now I don't know how we'll be able to repair it, except maybe by tearing down a building or two, if we can find one or two not being used, in the hopes that we can reuse the wood for the bridge repairs. Right now, it looks hopeless from my perspective. There's not a thing I can do about this whole Mell of a Hess."

I thought about that for a bit. After a while, I asked, "So…can you make the cattle just swim across?"

"I could…" Jackson sighed, with a shrug…shrugged with a sigh…he shrugged and sighed is the point. "…that is…I could, if the banks weren't more or less vertical canyon walls…that anyone, let alone cattle, would have trouble climbing…"

"…Hold on a minute," Rocky said, standing up from the booth, placing both hands on the table, and leaning over it. "What does that mean for us? If we did manage to climb down, would we be able to swim across and climb back up, in that sort of current?"

"Not a chance," murmured Jackson. He scratched the side of his head, then brushed his hair out of his face. "As I see it, there's only one way you can get to Icikor…but it'd still be pretty dangerous. You could always wait until someone gets around to fixing Mr. Johnson's mess of a blown-up bridge…"

I waited. A few more seconds ticked by, but nobody seemed to want to say anything. So, I finally asked in an impatiently annoyed tone, "Well? What do we have to do to get to Icikor before this bridge is finally repaired?"

Jackson took a deep breath and let it out again. Standing up slowly, Jackson grabbed his bandanna, then his tankard. He walked to the Bar, and set the Café's Beer Stein behind it. After that, he turned, leaned against the Bar, and mulled over his thoughts. "…well…I suppose it's up to you if you want to go through Lekia…Even in your condition, you should be able to handle a gun well enough to defend yourself in that place…but I wouldn't stay in that province any longer than I had to…if it were me going… If you wanted to go to Icikor, you could go to Lekia, and cross their suspension bridge to Icikor. It isn't very large or sturdy, and I'm sure if you tried to drive cattle across, it'd come apart pretty quickly, but three travelers and their packs shouldn't put too much strain on it… And before you suggest anything, I'm not driving cattle into Lekia. Those darned fools would try something…like eating the cattle as soon as they crossed the border…spoils of war, or some such nonsense…" Frowning, Jackson retied his bandanna to his head, and looked curiously at me. "…if you can't finish the job…taking the cattle to Icikor…then what's the rush to get there anyway?"

"Well…" I hesitated. My eyebrows furrowed, and I racked my brain. In another moment, I remembered my knapsack, and the tome inside…the one Sanya and Rocky got me for July 27th, about three months ago. Taking it out of my bag, I flipped through the pages until I came to an envelope, stuck between two pages near the middle of the book. The envelope was wrinkled, but not too much so. It looked as if someone had stuck it in his pocket for a few months before remembering and sticking it between the pages of a large and heavy book. After all, that's exactly what I did with it, so what else would it look like? Across the front was the word "Icikor" below the name, "Gene Starwind." In place of a stamp, there was glued, a small, metallic coin in the upper left hand corner.

It wasn't much to look at…at which to look…it was pretty pitiful, but I offered it to Jackson anyway. "That's about it…besides the signature…petition thing…."

"I told you, did I not?" Sanya pouted in her seat, next to Cassie, "I could probably have, if not more likely than possibly gotten more signatures, if you had just left the book with me…"

"…and I told you!" I interrupted, with a snap, pent up with the frustrations of yet another of our never-ending arguments, "I don't want anyone to ask for signatures on my behalf, and I don't want anyone signing this book that I don't know personally. I'd rather the right people sign this book, and not because they're obliged to, but because they want to."

"Why does everyone continually end their sentences with prepositions?" groaned Sanya. "Am I the only one who has any sense of sentence structure, and/or rules of grammar?"

"No, we know about all that," I shrugged, failing at the last second to smother a conceited smile. "We just don't feel bound by those rules."

"But…" Sanya began to whine.

Jackson cut her off, however, as he handed me back the envelope. "Anyway, if you want to get to Lekia, you'll probably want to travel down the south road, until you come to the border. There, the guards will decide whether you get to cross or you have to wait for God knows how long. Of course, since they're Lekians, they're as likely to pick a fight with you as say hello…"

"Do we have to go all the way to Lekia?" Sanya pouted, slumping in her seat.

"It's a day's walk to the border," Jackson added, dryly. "…the only thing is…"

"What?" I laughed, to the point where I even able to wipe a bit of moisture from my eye. "A day's walk? About 50 miles then? El Paso is exactly 750 miles from my house, but I had to get there, to Fort Bliss, by walking, but I never complained about that."

"You most likely had little to give you reason to complain," muttered Sanya sullenly, whilst propping her chin on her arms, crossed upon the table in front of her. "Unlike you and your fellow soldiers in Fort Bliss, no one in the south province can be found possessing any trace of civility or conscience. Lekians are a fearless, recklessly savage race, bent on naught but the destruction of every single thing upon God's good, green earth, that happens to move, breath, or so much as live."

I stared at Sanya. Unlike my usual sarcastically raised eyebrow, I looked at her with a genuinely surprised expression, with a hint of wonder. "Wow," I couldn't help but say, "You've been practicing, haven't you?"

Smiling at my compliment, Sanya replied with, "Why thank you," as she squeezed her eyes shut with pleasure. "Yes, I have been reading those books which you recommended for me. I had no idea the volumes upon volumes of wisdom and historic rhetoric outside of the borders of Aquinis. If I had, perhaps I would have ventured into the adjoining provinces much earlier."

"Uh…yeah…" I muttered, scratching the side of my head. I was really tempted to compare Sanya's old fear of Inland, with her current fear of Lekia…but I just dropped it. Instead, I said, "I can't imagine why they wouldn't let Shakespeare be sold or read in Aquinis…"

"It's probably because of the man's morals, and the amount of graphic content," Rocky growled, slowly and sullenly standing up. "And Sanya, yet again, you've gotten distracted. He commented on your speech, and now you've become weak in the knees, perhaps even a bit giddy. The point of this whole conversation was to warn of the natural dangers of Lekia."

"Oh…yes…sorry Rocky," Sanya apologized, before turning back to and smiling at me once more. "Please, realize that though, through the grace of God, you were able to stay alive while refraining from killing any one of Mr. Johnson's hired gunmen, I fear you may never have a similar such success ever within the span of your lifetime."

"Yeah, thanks," I grumbled back, grimacing at that thought of going up against people that could shoot better than Paul, Harvey, and even Jackson. Then a new thought occurred to me. "…By the way, whatever happened to Peter and Mr. Johnson?"

"Actually, while you were in bed, resting up from your u=injuries, Jackson was able to get Mr. Johnson convicted."

"Really?" My eyebrows really did jump at that revelation, and let me tell you, that surprised me more than anything else that had been said up until that point.

Okay, I guess that it's time for me to start explaining. In the event that I…or you…seem to have misplaced my first book, forgot its contents, or never even bothered to read it, allow me to explain the events leading up to this point in the story to all of y'all. …Oh, and don't you dare write any redneck, or Texas jokes in the margins. …or at least, nothing that can't be erased….

Alright, after I was deposited on this island, by a rather bad storm, which ended up killing everyone but the captain and me, I found out that this was the island the exiled Judean-Christians ended up, after the UN outlawed all, "Dissatisfactory" religions, and models of thought…harmful thinking, and the like… I went along with the people who decided to put me up for the night…Sanya and Rocky something or other…to see some crazy old man about how to get off this rock. He gave me the letter I now carried, simply addressed to one Gene Starwind, in Icikor, as well as the information that the weather on Aquinis was almost perfect. In fact, the total measurable rainfall each and every year had been identical to the one before it, for the past few decades. Something was just a bit too fishy about that… I was about to ask him about Icikor, right up until Rocky and the Vietnamese interrupted me. The Vietnamese have been trying to kill me for a long while now…or maybe they just want to talk with me, while poking a cigarette in my eye. Yes, I'm talking about torture. Not kidding. Seriously.

So, Rocky, anyway, just decided for some strange reason that I'm messing around with his sister. I'm not sure how he got the idea, even though I haven't done anything more than think about asking her out on a date.

…

Anyway, when the Vietnamese attacked Aquinis's capital Island, in the Aquinian Archipelago, I got ticked off and killed about 23 enemy combatants…that were trying to kill me, for the record. Of course, if I'd known that killing anyone in any way, whether it's a justifiable death, an accidental death, or a botched attempt at saving a suicide victim was illegal in the province of Aquinis…I probably would have taken prisoner or something…maybe… Okay, I probably would have done the same thing because there was no way in a hundred years I would have fled the island, and left all the people to their fate. It's kind of my job not to do that…and before anyone argues with me, let me remind you that it is. Ever since the media started making the American Army the protectors of the world, we either protect the world against everyone else, or we get a load of crap from our politician superiors.

…so…I kind of had to leave anyway more or less, after they gave me the privilege of being tried at a tribunal court… It was nothing like a fair trial, but at least they tried. Still, I guess it was a good thing that they stuck me on a ship for the main island, the way things turned out. You see, the Vietnamese bombarded the capital island, that very same night, flattening most of it. Rocky and Sanya survived, only because they were going to see me off, and managed to get onboard before the dock was reduced to atoms. We could see the fires burning, hours later, despite sailing as far away as the boat could take us.

Once we arrived at the port of Quanah, on the mainland, a schoolmate…actually, I think he was a classmate of Sanya's, named P.J., met up with his uncle, Mr. Johnson. Sanya followed P.J. off the boat, and then asked Mr. Johnson if we might spend the rest of the night at his place. He said yes to us, all of us, including Rocky and me. We'd followed her, mostly because neither Rocky nor I really knew what to do, after I'd been exiled and he'd followed his sister and my example. However, Mr. Johnson was interested in me more than either of my two new friends. He'd somehow found out about the 23 soldiers I killed on the capital island. So, he took me to be some sort of master assassin. I'm not sure why, he just did. Apparently, he needed someone killed, and so he asked me to do it for him.

I didn't plan on killing anyone for money. It's a duty, not a job or a privilege. A soldier kills, to preserve as many lives as possible. He kills quickly, boldly, and efficiently. He ends the fighting quickly, and he protects his friends, neighbors, countrymen, and then whomever's still getting oppressed…if he feels up to it…

Still, I accepted. I guess it was because I wanted to go to bed without Mr. Johnson giving me a monologue about why I should join him. I certainly didn't care about the money… not very much anyway… Of course, I kind of figured I'd ruined whatever standing I'd had with Mr. Johnson when I fell asleep in the same room as Cassie Johnson, Mr. Johnson's daughter. I didn't realize I had, until she woke up and found me…at the foot of her bed; to put it another way, I didn't realize I was sleeping in an occupied room, until she started screaming her head off about burglars and robbers.

Of course, when Cassie heard that we were all hitching a ride with Mr. Johnson to Inland, she begged to come along. She hadn't been out of the province, so she was nearly as set on seeing the rest of the mainland as anything else…including obeying her father. At first, we thought she'd submitted to her father's will, and after I was slightly distracted by Mrs. Jonson, also accountant to her husband's company incidentally, Mr. Johnson, Rocky and Sanya began to leave without me. I barely caught them. I didn't want to sit down and eat the breakfast I had brought with me, so we all decided to sign the book Sanya and Rocky had gotten me, as a sort of going away present. After signing our names, we also saw that crazy old man's signature…"Drew Patrick"… The old man in the tower…I guess he's not so important to the story, I guess…but if you're curious, he's in the previous book. I miss that old codger… I guess he'd signed his name to my book, right before we parted ways at the port.

After all that, then we finally came to the border of Inland. Not long after that, everything seemed to blow up in our faces. First, Mr. Johnson got mad at the Inland customs official, David Cathar, for who knows what reason. So, then Mr. Johnson wanted to go out of his way to evict the guy's family. It did somewhat surprise me that the guy I randomly met in Aquinas just happened to own the Cathar's mortgage. Second, Cassie Johnson appeared out of nowhere, after we got to the Cathar's place, to the dismay of pretty much everybody. …well…everyone except Mr. Johnson. He wasn't as dismayed as enraged. I guess that was to be expected, since it was pretty obvious she'd never intended to obey her father's wishes and stay behind… Finally, and to Mr. Johnson's further aggravation, the Cathar named Jackson told Cassie, Rocky, and Sanya that as they were over 13, Inland Law designated them as adults, responsible for themselves and answerable to nobody but God. He even offered to give us all a job, if you can believe that.

The strangest thing was that, instead of blowing up at us, or showing his annoyance in any way, Mr. Johnson just took me a side, smiled, and asked me if I'd planned the whole thing out. Of course, I had to tell him that I hadn't planned anything especially since I had no inkling of an idea what Mr. Johnson wanted me to do. He just told me to stay where I was and wait for his word, because he had to go straighten something out…business affairs and whatnot. Under my breath, I told him off, and wished he'd stay lost for a long while.

Jackson Cathar, the apparent boss of the house, told us if we wanted to get to Icikor, or we could take a job with him, herding cattle. The latter would earn us a modest sum of money, and let us ride the Cathar's horses all the way. Needless to say, we chose the latter.

We didn't leave for Jackson's herd right off, since Jackson needed supplies, and from the way Cassie swooned, he thought she might need a doctor. In his eyes, she had a fever. However, to everyone else, it was obvious that she had developed a crush on Jackson. After a long as sore horse ride, we came to the little and only town in Inland, often just called "the town." As soon as we'd set foot in the general store, a guy named Harvey McDougal, one of Mr. Johnson's hired guns, confronted Jackson. The two of them exchanged words, then Harvey left, disappointed that he couldn't make Jackson draw his gun. After a brief conversation with Jackson about his falling out with Harvey, I let him go ahead and take Cassie to the only doctor in town, a Doc Holiday…or at least to man's office, if not to the man himself. As he left, he told us to go wait for him, at Roxanne's bar a restaurant in everything but name.

As soon as we'd left the general store, however, we all found ourselves side-tracked. I found myself staring at all the buildings, all but some vacant houses waiting for someone to claim them. Then a man called out to me. Once we had finished having an extremely confusing conversation, he offered to go with us to Roxanne's place. That was great because at the time, we didn't have a clue as to where it was. Almost as soon as we'd gotten there, he began arguing with Roxanne, a Yorkshire woman by her accent. She seemed to find his company unpleasant, if you went by what she said almost every time they spoke.

Then, Jackson came back and told us he hadn't seen Doc Holiday. Roxanne said it was only natural, as Doc Holiday was the one who'd taken us to the bar. …well…actually, Roxanne just hinted at the fact, while it was Doc Holiday himself who revealed just who he was.

While everyone ate a late lunch, Doc Holiday and Jackson talked business. Apparently, the Cathar's ranch was the largest one left on the island, and as it went, so went the rest of Inland. Johnson would either foreclose on it, or buy it up when the Cathar's couldn't turn enough of a profit… unless someone could expose the dark workings of Mr. Johnson's company.

…this explanation is becoming a tad bit lengthier than I wanted it to be, now that I think about it… When I began this summary, I wanted to make it easy for you, the reader, to follow. At the same time, I didn't want to leave out anything important…but I don't want to ruin the story, just about as much as I want to stop explaining already. After all, I've already written that story for you, so if you want to know what's happened up until now, then you'd best be advised to read my previous book.

Now, to get back to **this** story…

I had just heard that Mr. Johnson had been convicted of one of his many crimes. This surprised me more than anything else I'd heard that day, because Mr. Johnson struck me as the sort of guy who would never let himself go to jail so quietly or easily as that. So, when Jackson told me that's exactly what had happened, I asked, "Really? What's the whole story?"

Jackson shrugged. "It wasn't anything incredibly surprising. Mr. Johnson's ledgers, work orders, those two dozen hired hands who're ready and willing to testify against him; all those things came together to see Mr. Johnson convicted of cattle rustling."

"Oh," I murmured, rubbing the bristles cropping up on my chin."…and P.J.?"

"He's disappeared," sighed Jackson. Frowning, and turning his gaze to the window, Jackson grumbled, "The first chance we gave him, he left the province. If he comes back to the Inland Range, he'll be arrested immediately. Of course, the last we saw of him, P.J. was headed east…so he'll most likely not be back…"

"Yeah," I immediately agreed. I knew only too well that the Vietnamese never took prisoners, unless they needed someone to torture for information…often to death. As P.J. knew nothing they wanted to know, it was unlikely he would survive long, should he be captured.

"Still," mumbled Jackson, without much interest, "If you're going to Lekia, it doesn't matter. We Inlanders should be able to keep the Outlanders where they stand. Don't give it a second thought."

In case you don't already know, or haven't already guessed it, Outlanders are the 'heathens' that live in 'Elsewhere'; everywhere but on the island, that is. People here on the island seem to think of all Outlanders as being more or less pure evil. I seem to be considered an exception, rather than the average. …maybe it's because I'm from Texas, the last of the 'free' states or…well…I'll explain that later. Suffice to say, at the time Jackson said, 'Outlanders,' I was already beginning to think of the Outlanders as 'them' not 'us'. Here, I'd found a sort of freedom that I'd heard about from my grandfather… and I'd already become somewhat protective of this island. It was as if I'd found the America of 1776, or 1787…and despite the fact that I was still a first Lieutenant in the American Army, I felt as though it was more important to fight this battle, and protect this island, than my homeland. …maybe I didn't feel that strongly about it yet…but I had begun to feel a sense of loyalty to this nation, the likes of which I'd never felt before. …but as I said, I'm getting ahead of yourself…myself…whatever.

After a moment or two in thought, I starred at Jackson and asked, "…wait, are you going to come to Icikor, or at least to Lekia?"

"Nope." Jackson sniffed and rubbed his nose. "When I said, 'If you're going to Lekia,' I meant it. I chose to say 'you' because I don't include myself. Connie and I need to attend to the herd, and fight off the Outlanders. Considering these dangerous times, I should probably be out there right now with Connie, who's currently guarding the herd. …of course, if I was out there, she might just use that as an excuse to come here and be all over you…" Jackson chuckled, as he walked across the room. "Lately…not too long after you'd been confined to bed, she began stalking you. A lot."

"Ah…" mumbled I, scratching my right cheek. "That explains it…"

For the past three months, no one visited me more often than Connie…except maybe Sanya. I haven't any clue as to why Sanya came to visit me…unless it's because all her other audiences were less captive than I when she started soliloquizing… Either way, I'd figured out by the way Connie had acted around me, that she'd developed an interest in me… Of course, it had also occurred to me that I'd just assumed wrong, due to wishful thinking. It was nice to be told, and not have to keep guessing. I don't want to say that I'm bad at relationships…but…well…the only girl I've ever dated in my life might have ended up dead because of it, two weeks after I met her…

…

Actually, now that I think about it, I can't say I knew anyone besides my parents and Grandfather longer than I'd known Rocky and Sanya. After my mom and dad died in the 'accident', I'd moved around a lot with my Grandfather. This meant what friends I'd had, I'd had to keep in touch with them over the internet, and, in a few cases, by mail. It took forever for a letter to get delivered, but in places where the internet was nonexistent, it was cheaper to keep in contact by mail than to go out there. After the gas to traverse the states, and the CO2 emissions tax, the luxury tax, the toll tax, and the dozen or so smaller taxes penalizing travel…you had to pay about a month's salary…

Then, after my Granddad died, everything changed. It wasn't so much the fact that he died, because we were expecting the aneurism for a few weeks before he passed away. The way he died is what shocked me the most. I just couldn't grasp why he died. It was just too…it wasn't the kind of death I imagined he'd have… no inspiring last words…no smile and a wink. He just…died.

Anyway, everyone I knew grew distant, and I eventually decided to join up, when I was fifteen. That was about a year before I expected to be drafted anyway. From how the world seemed to threaten the existence of America, and even of Texas, I was just…I got bummed out about the state of the world, and how carefree a lot of kids were. So, I asked for a combat assignment. Seeing as I'd no family to lose, and I figured I was going to die eventually anyway, I guess I didn't care when my number came up.

I entered as a private, and got three weeks of solid day and night training. Sleep deprivation was the standard. Right after my graduation day, I was shipped overseas, for my first war, and got about 36 hours of sleep on the way. If I had believed in God at that time, when I stepped onto the shores of China, I probably would have thanked him for the subs that dropped a few Neuron bombs...or were they neutron bombs…on the scud launchers on the beach. If it wasn't for the stim packs, I would have died, or at least become comatose after the 57th hour of fighting.

Once we finally reached Beijing, after about 5 months of fighting to win, I was a full sergeant. During those five months, I'd thanked our engineers countless times for saving my sorry brisket, and I'd cursed just about every sorry Chinese guy I'd had to fight. It was a miracle that I didn't end up wounded, or missing a limb. Eventually, someone noticed how apparently skilled or incredibly lucky I was, so I was sent to a special, sixteen man squad, where I would spend the rest of my career. It was designated the 12,543rd squad of the Army's suicide division. We called our squad the Black Dog Brigade, because with the stunts we pulled, we were worth at least 3,000 men.

In the Brigade, the life expectancy of a raw recruit was about 15 days including the crash course we sent them through…which was about seven days more than the average foot-soldier. Even with all the expensive equipment we were given, people had a habit of getting killed off. Shanks, Logan, Cowboy, Spaceman, Duster, Ghost, Monk, Blade, Sherman, and Heracles were the original guys, and the original women were Scarlet, Ice, Krieg, Ayame, and Deadeye…everyone seemed to call her Deadeye Dorcas… Ayame and Shanks slept together, and as a result, they both lost their cool, when she stepped on a landmine and got both of them blown up. Logan got his head blown off when Ice got pinned down by enemy fire. He always liked her, and in the end, she only served as a distraction to get him killed. If Ice is still alive, she's getting along without an arm and a leg, thanks to the meatball surgeries she probably went through… Come to think of it, only Duster, Sherman, and Spaceman actually got killed off because of the enemy overwhelming or out-flanking them. Everyone else seemed to die because they were too busy being distracted by the opposite sex…probably why I survived for so long. I just never had that much experience around women, and I really didn't care about what I was missing. I guess I felt like it was my job to kill people, and not get killed. That kind of pleasure was reserved for Civilians, and indulging in it would just get me killed. I don't know how many of the guys would have lived, if they hadn't given into their hormones…if they'd stayed soldiers…

After Deadeye died, I became the oldest member of the "old crew." Being the senior member of the group, I was promoted to First Lieutenant, and commander of the Brigade. I installed a zero tolerance non-fraternization policy. I divided the Brigade into two units, Jet and Ebony. If anyone hinted at being homosexual, I got them transferred out. If anyone questioned my policy, I got them transferred out. I got a lot of flak from the higher ups, and a few "equal rights" groups, and politicians for what I did, but I didn't care. I brought the life expectancy of each recruit to a solid month. One good soldier we nicknamed "Wonder-Boy," lasted about 9 months in the brigade…became my best friend for a while there. Still, all the rookies came and went…Wonder-Boy too. After all, what can you do against an XPF-23 missile gunship. One T.A.M. is enough to vaporize a Tank, if it hits on target. If the guy's got no more protection than a simple Kevlar mesh vest, he never stood a chance, Wonder-Boy or not…

…so…you, my reader, can imagine the kind of social skills I'd garnered over the years; I was pretty apathetic about any affection shown to me. …or…maybe it's that I really couldn't tell the difference between the admiration of subordinates and colleagues…and actual romantic interest for me… It's still kind of indistinguishable to me.

…so…now that I knew that Connie actually liked me…I guess I was kind of bummed out. You might find it strange, reader, even now that you know what sort of upbringing I'd had… I suppose I may have started liking Sanya more and more as I began to understand a greater percentage of her sentences. Still, Connie looked somewhat cute, and acted pretty hot, which made me like her a good deal but…well…it was just kind of late to learn about it. As you can imagine, I was kind of bummed out.

"…So…neither you, nor Connie will be coming with Sanya, Rocky and me, right? Well…what about Harvey?" I turned to look over at Harvey McDougal. "You can hold your own, I've seen that for myself. …so…if Sanya's fears are not unfounded about the Lekians…I might be more comfortable if you'd come along. …correction, if you'd help me escort Rocky and Sanya through Lekia."

"Huh?" Harvey asked, looking up from his paperwork. Smiling curiously and raising an eyebrow in disbelief, Harvey turned in his chair and crossed his arms. He also leaned back and stared humorously at me as he asked, "Are you joking? I'm one of the four peace officers in the province, and all of us are up to our elbows in casework. I can't just take a few days off right now…especially when those Outlanders start pouring over the border."

"…I thought you'd be done with all the paperwork by now…" I grumbled grumpily. "How much paperwork does this involve?"

"Plenty," Harvey sighed wearily. "Besides the large number of accomplices to check out, testimonies, and all the reports to question, scrutinize, transcribe, and file, we've got a ton of new files to fill. This crime is new in a lot of aspects…activities that are criminal in nature, but not quite criminal where the law is concerned. So, first we have to fill out everything we can, then write on the back of a few forms, just to make sure we've written down everything of interest, and **then** there's the question of how to file all these reports. After that, then we have to figure out some sort of statute to bring before a town-hall meeting, of all the families in Inland…which means a heck of a lot of people, considering how many refugees have come from Aquinas. We've got to keep it simple, and Inlandish…hopefully, all the new residents won't foul up our laws, so that only us peace officers can keep track of them all. After that, we'll probably have to figure out a way to punish these accomplishes, while not spending more of the public's money than we can make back…Hell's bells, I hope more than anything we can get through this all, without adding more bureaucracy to Inland's laws and government…"

"…oh…yeah…" I nodded readily. Even from what all Harvey had said, I doubted that I could quite understand the amount of paperwork Harvey was talking about. I did gather one thing from the conversation though. "You Peace officers hate it when the rest of the Province complicates your work, don't you?"

"it's not so much the deputy part of me," Harvey admitted with a sigh, as he stretched the kinks out of his back, "…as much as the Inlander part of me."

"…yeah, I can understand that." Shrugging, I took a deep breath and looked around the room for a place to sit. "I was once in a…erm…in a position…where I had to fill out a mountain of paperwork every time someone…almost every day. I know how it feels to do what's right, but still have idiots who'd never done my job, telling me how I should do it…"

Rocky, Sanya, and Jackson glanced at me, but surprisingly, nobody asked me what I meant. I expected Sanya to ask, because she liked to know everything…or, at least, she liked to pretend she knew as much. Rocky was just interested in everything about me…partially because he liked the idea of me being a gun-toting vigilante, punishing Outlanders for their sins, and he wanted to make sure I didn't have a history of preying on women or something…Who knows. He was just paranoid I'd try to take Sanya away from him. …I wasn't, and never will be what Rocky thought I was…just in case you were wondering…

…Jackson, on the other hand might have taken an interest in my past in the same way, and for the same reason, if not to the same degree as I'd found an interest in his past. I also figured that, if he looked over at me, he was as likely to speak to me as not. That's just the way Jackson was…no wasted motion, you know.

Since nobody started asking me anything, I walked over to Cassie and sat down next to her. I wanted to speak with her, and my leg was starting to ache again. "So what about you, Cassie?" I asked, half curious, half anticipating an answer already. "Will you be coming with us, or do you want to stay here…with Jackson?" As soon as the words were out of my mouth, I looked over at Jackson, and then turned my gaze back to Cassie's blushing face. I received all the answers I needed from her countenance. Her reply merely confirmed them.

"Hrm?" Cassie asked, looking as if she'd woken from a dream. "…er…did you say something?"

Obviously, she would be staying with Jackson. I thought I might as well tell her about the trip anyway, even though she'd probably not remember, considering how infatuated she was. "Yeah…um…Sanya, Rocky and I will be off to Lekia, once we've packed our stuff. You wouldn't want to come along with us, would you?"

"Not really…" Cassie sighed, as he turned her gaze back towards Jackson and smiled dreamily. "I…really like it here…it's very nice, here…on the Range."

**It's not the scenery you think is nice…** I thought to myself, with a smile, **…but perhaps what lives in it?** As I began to think on the subject of love once more, and on Connie and Sanya, it was then that Sanya decided to interrupt my train of thought.

"Excuse me…but what was it you meant when you chose to say, 'we'? In other words, you believe that I and Rocky will accompany you to the province of Lekia, am I right?"

As I turned at looked at Sanya, I was greeted by a pretty hostile glare. "What? Aren't you coming with me to Icikor?"

Sanya shrugged, but continued to glare at me, even as she answered, "I find Inland the lesser ring of Hell. Icikor is a frozen and technological terror of a province, filled with half-hearted Christians, pursuing physical comfort and material wealth, loving this world more than the next. Lekians are demons, and their steamy jungles is second in temperature, danger, and probably stench, only to a volcanic eruption."  
"Sanya, you can't be so picky when traveling." Quickly rolling my eyes, I shook my head and sighed. Since it always hurt me to roll my eyes, it was more for her sake than mine. …just a way I could emphasize points that would otherwise be lost to her. "Do you really think a whole country could change, just for you?"

For some odd reason, Sanya needed a moment to think about that question. Eventually, after a pause about 12 heartbeats long, she answered, "You know what? Though I hardly think a country could, upon our arrival or preceding our arrival, change their nature, both that of the population and that of the countryside surrounding the miserable death camps they may have deemed worthy of the title 'city,' or even that of 'Capital,' I think that they could, if they actually put a decent amount of effort into it."

I blinked once, twice, then three times, as I tried to sort out just what exactly Sanya had just said. Then I had to sort out what it was she meant exactly. As my eyebrows grew closer to each other, and nearly perpendicular to each other, I asked slowly, "…so…do you mean to say you won't come?"

"Not necessarily," Sanya corrected me. "Lekia simply must be transformed by some miracle of heaven itself, or perhaps be visited by the Messiah himself, before I deign to visit."

I sighed and turned away, grumbling under my breath. **Well, I've seen that miracles occasionally happen…but I'm still not convinced that anyone like your Messiah ever existed…** After staring back at Sanya for a short while, I asked, "Please?"

Sanya continued to glare at me. "In one word, 'no.' However, if you would allow me more than a mere single adverb, then I would like to tell you, 'I will go with you to Lekia after an Outlander treads on the moon.' I would say, 'When Hell freezes over,' but that would be too soon. I am not coming with you to Lekia, and that is final."

My face broke into a smile. "Oh, really?"

After all, I'm Buck Goodwin, a First Lieutenant from Texas, in the American Army. There's absolutely nothing I can't do, if I put my mind to it.


End file.
